A/N: Hello everyone. Happy MLK day weekend. I bet everyone was itching to read this chapter :D

Enjoy and please comment :D

Chapter 59: Long Live the King

The history of House Targaryen and the Principality of Dorne had never been one of ease and joy - blood and pain was more apt. Three failed invasions, two occupations, and dozens of immolations had all ended with the double marriage alliance during Daeron II's rule… but the gap remained. Hopes that he and Elia's marriage would soften relations abounded within court when Aerys announced it five years before, but from the glares and guarded looks shot his way from the lines of mustard-swathed spearmen under the banner of Sun and Spear, Rhaegar knew such hopes had been dashed even in the aftermath of his boundless love for his Dornish bride. "Unfortunately I doubt they appreciate my presence," Ned whispered in his ear as the mounted column approached the awning housing the Martells.

"Given the past, I highly doubt that, Ned." Rhaegar was heartened to see Oberyn, and once he dismounted the man pulled him into a tight hug. "Thank you, goodbrother," he whispered.

"It was my honor to serve the Sunrise Dragon." He eyed Aegarax with awe and a sort of pride. "Come, we have much to discuss." The King drew a breath, holding Aegarax and coming face to face with Doran Martell.

Never once had Rhaegar seen his elder goodbrother dressed for the cold. Swathed in the colors of his house, yet of warm wool and cottons - unlike the fur-lined cloaks and boots supplied by the Northmen, a slight shiver hit Doran nonetheless. "Your Grace." Stiff and wooden from the early ravages of gout, he wore a small smile as if everything was perfect between them.

Fire flowing in his veins and dragon resting atop his forearm, Rhaegar was in no mood to deal with Doran's duplicity. But diplomacy was diplomacy, and he'd need the support of Sunspear to seek peace once his father fell. "Greetings, Prince Doran. It is always a pleasure to see family once more." The five of them took their seats - each noticed that Oberyn sat slightly closer to Rhaegar and Ned rather than his own blood brother. Tywin sat equally between the two sides, eyes observant but face otherwise blank.

A flash of ire crossed Doran's eyes before the genial mask resumed. "My brother informed me of the birth of a new direwolf from the Lady Lyanna's womb." An attendant draped a thick blanket over his knees. "You have my congratulations.

Anger burned in Rhaegar over yet another insult directed at his Queen - as close as Doran could come to outright calling his son a Stark bastard. But it was Ned who responded. "Jon Targaryen is a Prince of greater rank than yourself… and so in Queen Lyanna. It would do wise to show some respect, Prince Doran."

The Prince of Sunspear raised his brow. "I'm sorry, but who are you?"

It was clear that he did know, but the putdown was necessary - a power play. "This is Eddard Stark, brother." Oberyn played along, attempting to keep the peace while Tywin merely watched. "Lord of Winterfell."

"Ah, the Rock of Harrenhal in the flesh." Doran regarded him up and down with his eyes. "They also call you the Quiet Wolf if I recall correctly. That seemed to be a more apt name for you before this whole mess since there weren't many stories of you as your brother."

Ned narrowed his eyes. "A quiet life was all I wanted, but a direwolf bares teeth and claw to those that threaten his family." Rhaegar resisted the urge to knot his eyebrows together. Ned had a better mind for subtle politicking than he thought. Impressive.

Nevertheless, it was counterproductive. "Prince Doran, I am heartened to see Dorne finally responding to my summons, but considering the need of my claim and that of the lives of my family the delay was unacceptable of someone professing fealty.."

"Forgive me," Doran shrugged. "The planning of war from an inherently peaceful people… it is a long run matter."

"Long run? The forces of the Vale were ready to march in a matter of weeks," Ned countered, clenching his fists. Only a side glance from Rhaegar managed to calm him down.

"By the time we were ready, it was too late to advance through the heart of enemy territory. My goal shifted to ensuring King Aerys failed to escape from the capitol." He sighed. "If you wished for my coordination in this regard, then I offer my apologies."

Rhaegar pursed his lips. "Forgive me if we do not see eye to eye on that characterization of events." There was silence at the challenge. "I appreciate your support currently, but with my brides trapped in Starfall, on Dornish territory, your support was more than vital."

Leaning back in his chair, Doran was nonplussed. "Lord Tywin took his sweet time in deciding to join the conflict while I was preparing a strike at the heart of Aerys' domain, and yet he sits as an honored member of your council - i see that as odd."

Quiet the whole time, Doran raised Tywin's ire. "Issues of succession are usually quite… complicated, Prince Doran. Invasions of the lands of your sworn bannermen are not. Had Aerys' army crossed into the Westerlands, they would have met our spears far earlier."

"That is a good characterization, Lord Tywin, yet one that doesn't take into account all the facts." Doran smiled at his King. "Lord Allyrion and Qorgyle had my orders to march their bannermen to Starfall once Renly's line of retreat was cut off by Lord Wyl - my brother's zeal to protect Queen Elia managed to include Lord Uller in the relief force as well."

No one missed the surprise on Oberyn's face. As if Doran's words had shocked him. "Is this true, Prince Oberyn?" Ned asked, skeptical.

He gulped. "I knew not of it."

Doran's smile widened. "If I had truly wished to stop you, brother, I would have. Elia and Aegon's lives matter greatly to me."

Arms crossed, Rhaegar noticed he didn't mention Rhaenys. The slight on Lyanna and Jon was obvious, but not of his blood niece. I don't believe him. But if a lie, it was a good one. Did anyone expect the Dornish Lords to go against their Prince? Did he expect Oberyn to betray his brother so publically. Well played. "We can finish this blame game at another time. Can you inform me of how the seige is going? Did any of my father's forces escape or surrender?"

"Unfortunately, my sources in the capitol indicate that Lord Connington, Ser Jonothor Darry, and several other knights have managed to escape King's Landing before the blockade of Lord Velaryon and I could surround the harbor."

That was truly unfortunate. "Is my father still there?"

Doran nodded. "He is." In the distance, far-off thunderclaps boomed. "As is a storm, apparently."

"Good, we attack this evening."

Ned blinked. "Brother…"

"The men need rest," Tywin stated flatly.

Rhaegar knew his men were exhausted, but any longer this war continued was a moment too far. "They can rest when the Red Keep is ours. "We attack tonight."


The storm of the century brewing… or at least such was what the septons were calling it. A manifestation of the gods anger at the clashing of the royal family or some other such nonsense. Jaime Lannister inherited his father's contempt for the spiritual, the Lannisters being a far more practical House than the rest of the Great Houses… perhaps House Martell joined them though Tywin would deny it. Regardless of the cause, whatever sunlight bearing down upon King's Landing was being swallowed up by a vast expanse of ugly black clouds.

Ominous, if he thought of it.

Nevertheless, he found Rhaella staring out at the churning waters of Blackwater Bay. Silent and pensive, her dress didn't even try to hide her pregnant belly. "Jaime," she said to him without looking.

Jaime bowed. "My Queen." Outwardly neutral, but a love and longing filled his tone.

Rhaella happened to notice, looking back and smiling sweetly. "I'm glad for the company… especially you."

Her words elated him… hells, she always elated him. "I am honored." Jaime strode beside her, the two of them staring out at the sea. "Not a good sign, do you think?"

"No, the end is drawing near." She sighed. "For the first time since this all started, all of my children are once again close to me." Rhaella placed a hand on her stomach, feeling Daenerys quite active within. "I yearn to see them. Rhaegar safe, Daenerys born, and Viserys free from his father's poison."

"You as well…" Alone with her, Jaime took her wrist, bringing her hand up for a sweet kiss upon the soft skin. "There is no one more deserving than you of happiness, my Queen."

A tiny blush crept on her cheek, but Rhaella pulled her hand away. Eyes downcast as she bit her lip. "Lord Varys spoke to me." Jaime stiffened. No… he can't have told her… "He's planning something… for Rhaegar. He didn't tell me specifics, only that the true King will win." Turning back to him, her eyes watered. "I'm afraid, Jaime… I can't lose my son…" It didn't take but a moment for the knight to take his Queen into his arms.

A half-hour later, this conversation was still on his mind as he escorted the young Prince Viserys into the throne room. Empty apart from the King… and Wisdom Rossart, the two of them whispering loudly at each other from the Iron Throne.

"Your Grace." Flickering his eyes away from Rossart, the King deigned to look over both his son and Ser Jaime. "May I present Crown Prince Viserys of House Targaryen."

Studying Viserys and he with narrowed eyes, finally Aerys nodded. "Go see it done, Rossart," he told the Pyromancer turned Hand of the King - the last person Aerys trusted since Connington's flight. "Now, before I have you killed." Rossart didn't need to be told twice, clogs clapping against the stone floor as he made his exit. "Lannister, get over here. I need a guard… Jenny's spies are everywhere."

"Of course." Insane monster. Jaime kept those thoughts to himself, merely counting down the minutes until Rhaegar would arrive.

Even as Jaime took his place guarding the King, Aerys ignored him. "Viserys, my son. Do you know why we're here?" A smile curved on his face - more of a half-leer, half-grimace rather.

Willing himself not to tremble or stutter, the heir to Aerys Targaryen cleared his throat. "The… the true dragons shall not abandon our nest to the whims of wolves, lions, and vipers?"

"Very good. I'll make a proper dragon from you yet." The King tapped his fingers against each other, rising from the Iron Throne. "But that is only part of it. Our destiny is upon us, my son. The false dragon threatens to take everything from House Targaryen… your so-called older brother and his half-breeds in service of such." His eyes narrowed, stabbing his finger at his second surviving child. "Never fall for his seductive words, or the words of the whores he married."

"I… I shall not disappoint you, kepa." Viserys' voice was that of a man far older and more weathered than the seven nameday child he truly was.

"But it shall be over tonight," the King said ominously. "True dragons need not be afraid of what is to come, so stay in your rooms and do not come out until I inform you otherwise. Understood?"

Viserys seemed confused, but knew what he had to say. "Yes, kepa."

Aerys smiled. "Good, now get out of my sight." Viserys wisely retreated, racing back towards Maegor's Holdfast. Plopping back atop the Iron Throne, Aerys hissed as the blades forged long ago before the Field of Fire scraped at his arm - drawing pinpricks of blood. Proving his lack of worth, though truly notice he did not. "Tell me, Jaime… where do your loyalties lie?"

Underneath his helm and armor, Jaime bristled. "I serve the rightful King of House Targaryen." Not a lie. Rhaegar is my King. "I serve House Targaryen to my dying breath." I would die for Rhaella.

"Good, good." Aerys fiddled with a sausage of lint clinging to his robe. "And tell me once more, who leads the army gathering outside the walls of this very city? The one my ancestors built from the savage wilderness?"

"I believe the armies fight for the… disgraced Prince Rhaegar." The words tasted like ash coming from his tongue, but he spoke them nonetheless. "Ones supplied by Eddard Stark, Doran Martell, and… Tywin Lannister."

"So my old friend the lion was involved in the Doom after all." Chuckling darkly, Aerys leaned back - his violet eyes wild with energy. Quite shocking since the King rarely ate much these days. "I know you looked up to my traitor of a son, so if I told you to bring me the heads of both him and your cunt of a father, would you do so?" It was less a question than a challenge upon him. Jaime's very life on the line based on how he responded.

I should bring them your head. Not a day passed where he failed to imagine cleaving the King's neck in two for harming his beloved dragon, but whether by honor or by cowardice Jaime demurred. "I shall carry my King's orders without hesitation."

Throwing back his head, Aerys Targaryen cackled in laughter at the same moment as a jagged spear of lightning assaulted the ground. So close as to have the thunderclap be almost simultaneous with it. "You, Jaime… you're the proper lion. A weak cub that doesn't bite back… I've beaten you down long enough to spite your father, and it's worked."

"Yes… your Grace."

Wiping a tear from his eye, Aerys hunched to his side. "But do not worry. It shall not be you that has to get his hands dirty. All I need from you is watch my destiny emerge." With the winds howling around the throne room, Jaime slowly girded himself for the onrushing cyclone that the gods saw fit to form the finale of this rebellion.


"Tortoise, form up!"

"Hoo! Hoo!" In one fluid motion, the five hundred men of House Crakehall slammed their shields together. Boars and lions emblazoned on their shields as well as the ever-present symbol of Old Valyria, their once quick march changing into a slow, plodding advance. In the rear, two Targaryen dragon banners waved proudly. They heralded the presence of their King in the tortoise formation, though no one knew where.

Rhaegar felt the rumble of the thunder resonate through the ground. Above, the skies were a swirling maelstrom of dark clouds, wind howling as it slammed into the tortoise. The gods are angry with us… not a good omen. Atop his shoulder, Aegarax chirped apprehensively, the King well in tune with his dragon's emotions. It's alright, my son. Go back in your pouch and wait. But the dragon was stubborn, not willing to part himself from the action.

He was too much like Rhaegar for his own good.

Dragon hissing at anyone that got too close to Rhaegar not named Ned, Oswell, or Barristan, those within knew exactly where their king was. "That fucking thing better not breathe fire on me, Targaryen," snarled a scarred man in heavy plate.

"Do not speak to his Grace in that manner, Clegane!" the five-and-ten Ser Lyle Crakehal shot back, the man as bulky as the nickname "Strongboar" suggested.

"Fuck the King," Sandor Clegane hissed back. "If he can get me out of this mess in one piece, then I'll gladly kiss his arse.

Shield tight against the others in the second-most line of the attacking force, Rhaegar tore his gaze from the rapidly approaching Gate of the Gods. Sharing a chuckle with his goodbrother at the profane treason of the scarred man-at-arms. "That won't be necessary, Sandor," Rhaegar told the man over the roar of the advancing men. "I could knight you for this if you prove yourself."

Sandor spat, causing Aegarax to hiss at him. Laughs came all around at how he flinched, which only pissed him off more. "Stuff your knighthood, King Dragon. My brother's a knight and is a right cunt." He slammed his fist against his shield. "Get this fucker moving! I gotta kill some assholes!"

Looking back at Ned, the Lord of Winterfell shrugged. "I like him."

"Gates opening!" Oswell shouted, drawing attention to scores of Household guards marching out of the city itself. Their swords and axes glinted in the white shards of lightning that erupted from the angry sky, forming up tightly in front of the Gate of the Gods to challenge the advancing Westermen.

A large arrow suddenly thwacked against one of the shields… followed by dozens more as the archers atop the walls assailed them with the deadly projectiles. Most were blocked by the shields, yet enough wet slaps and pained grunts belied some hitting their mark.

"Hold steady!" the Strongboar commanded. A particularly intense gust of wind crashed against them all, staggering the formation. "Hold fucking steady!"

"Traitors!" Screamed out from the line of guardsmen, several score of goldcloaks reinforcing them. "Gutless Traitors!"

"You're the fucking traitors!" Oswell bellowed. "Fire and blood comes for you!"

"Fire and blood!"

A drop of rain splattered on Rhaegar's shield, another falling through a gap and plopping on Aegarax's head. He shrieked in surprise, beating his wings and clawing around. "In the sack, boy!" Rhaegar ordered, the dragon chirping and complying, disappearing into the burlap pouch across Rhaegar's back.

In an instant, the drizzle became a deluge that assaulted them with the fury of the heavens, soaking the soldiers to their very bones. But Rhaegar was undaunted. "Fire and blood!"

"FIRE AND BLOOD!" In one fluid motion the entire formation charged. Staying remarkably in formation for the final dozen yards between them and the line of guardsmen. Shields crashed together, the sheet of rain masking hundreds of war cries as the two sides clashed.

Rhaegar pushed one man back with his shield, drawing Blackfyre expertly and stabbing forward. The man toppled with a shriek, only for another to take his place, pushing back against the Westermen. "Traitor!"

"Murderer!" Ice cut down another, while Lyle Crakehall ran through a goldcloak with his Valyrian steel blade Tusk. Sandor Clegane merely reached out and grabbed a guardsmen, tearing open his neck with his bare hands. "I'll rape the corpse of any man with a clean sword!" he snarled at the Crakehall men.

"If he doesn't, I fucking will!" Oswell added.

The loyalists were outnumbered two to one, but with their backs hemmed in by the gate and with the arrows from above they held a defensive advantage - savaging the attacking Westermen… until the agents of Varys unleashed their planned coup for Rhaegar. Drawing their swords and slaughtering the other goldcloaks manning the gatehouse.

With a groan, the massive gate began to open inward.

"Forward!" Anchor denied them, the loyalists were being pushed back, Crakehalls signalling for the troops gathered in the deluge behind them. Spear held high in the air, Oberyn Martell sallied forth with the Martell infantry. Ready to retake King's Landing in the name of Queen Elia.

Whatever organization among the few that remained in support of Aerys II Targaryen collapsed as the levies of Sunspear marched through the Gate of the Gods - now "open as the spread legs of a Lysene whore" as Oberyn Martell put it succinctly. Ser Manly Stokeworth and the loyalists in the City Watch and Targaryen guard tried to rally their men in a fighting retreat towards the Red Keep itself, only for the attacking rebels to rout them again and again with the assistance of a surprising source.

The smallfolk of King's Landing, sated on stories of the kind Prince Rhaegar and his beautiful brides actually caring about them and their families, had reached the breaking point. Moons of the stench of wildfire and charred bodies suddenly ignited as the rebel army finally breached the city. Thousands rose from their houses and shacks. They screamed obscenities at the Aerys loyalists, pelting them with rocks and dung - many brandishing knives and hammers in mad charges towards their tormentors.

Few died, however. Most Goldcloaks and guardsmen joined the mob, shouts of "RHAEGAR!" and "DRAGON KING!" echoing out of every single neighborhood of the capitol. Everywhere the Westermen and Dornish marched they received cheers, and most were on their best behavior as ordered by their Lords and their King.

Raising Blackfyre in the air from the top of Visenya's hill, the Great Sept of Baelor looming large behind him, Rhaegar felt the rain splatter atop his armor. His leathers soaked and hair matted, in the crackle of the lightning he roared. Aegarax on his shoulder and screeching just as loudly. "FORWARD!"

"DRAGON KING!"

Ahead was Aegon's High Hill. Resting atop it was the Red Keep, the seat of House Targaryen. A place he hadn't seen in nine moons, and within its walls waited the final confrontation he would have with his father the King.

Soon, all would be over, for good or for ill.

And the thought terrified him.


Built with majesty in mind, in the chaotic maelstrom of wind and rain howling across the entire city it exposed something far different about the Red Keep. Ned could feel it scorching his very skin. Kicking an errant goldcloak trying to stop his goodbrother, Ned barely noticed Ice swinging - sharp Valyrian steel disemboweling his foe. It all seemed too surreal in the home of the Targaryen Kings, once something of grandeur… only now to represent only death to him.

Maegor Targaryen, building the keep only to massacre the builders so that only he would know its secrets.

Rhaenyra Targaryen, beset by rioters of the Faith as the entire city burned.

Daeron Targaryen, beset with the result of his father's whoring tearing the Realm apart.

Aerys Targaryen, murdering his grandchild and setting his goodfamily to wildfire.

Yet one kept him going. The red-cloaked figure to his right, teeth set in a snarl as nothing could stop him. Rhaegar was the salvation of his House, the great King that the Realm needed. The friend and brother Ned had never known he was missing. For he and the family Rhaegar gave him, Ned would fight to the death.

A twisted, jagged line of lightning assaulted the ground from the heavens, bathing the cavernous halls with an eerie white light. Casting a sort of life among the statues and icons of past kings, warriors, heroes… the immense thunderclap that shook in a furious echo seemed to be their cries of agony. Stern, joyless faces suddenly gazing upon the trio racing towards the throne room, as if beseeching them to end their suffering. Finish what the Mad King had started.

The immense double doors to the throne room loomed before them, guarded by its very own trio. Two goldcloaks clutching their spears in trembling arms, while a green-clad Kingsguard waited in his thick plate. "Prince Rhaegar…" he stammered.

"That's King Rhaegar to you," Barristan ground out, twirling his longsword. The sight of the legendary Barristan the bold nearly made the city watchmen shit their pants.

Rhaegar, to his credit, was calmer. "You're of House Tyrell, no?" The Kingsguard nodded. "My father had no authority to give you your white cloak, so you're of your family still. Lord Mace bent the knee, so go. Take off your cloak and just go back to Highgarden as Rolland Storm did." All hesitated, so Rhaegar displayed the might of Blackfyre, blood dripping off the rippled steel. "Go!"

Sheathing his sword, the knight did, hustling away with the goldcloaks not far behind.

Sighing, Rhaegar drew out the sack hanging from his shoulder. Inside, Aegarax cooed from his gentle strokes. Stay calm, boy. He hooted in response. "Ready?" Rhaegar looked at Ned, eyes soft and worn from all he endured - all they endured.

Ned's gaze filled with an icy resolve. "Let's finish this." Without further delay, the three of them pushed open the great doors to reveal the Iron Throne… and its occupant.

Every torch and chandelier in the massive antechamber were lit, flames casting an orange-red glow in all corners. The heads of the great dragons of the past glowered menacingly upon their creations, lightning covering them in a blinding white. As a child, Rhaegar always enjoyed running past them, naming them as he went. Now, he found himself whispering the names - calming himself in the familiarity. Balerion, Caraxes, Meleys, Vhagar, Syrax, Dreamfyre, Quicksilver, Vermithor…

From the sack, Aegarax chirped fearfully, sensing the tension. It's alright, boy… all will be over soon.

Halting at the well of the Iron Throne, the three of them glanced upward to the second trio of figures waiting there. Once vibrant, filled with courtiers and penitents, the sorry state of his father's position became apparent in the few that stood in the court of Aerys II Targaryen. Jaime, looking like he wished to be anywhere else. Wisdom Rossart, the oily skeleton of an pyromancer - the glint of the Hand of the King pin rested just below his grinning visage. Rhaegar's blood boiled at the insult to what Aegon, Rhaenys, and Visenya built.

Lastly, seated upon the throne of Balerion the Dread, was his father. "Ah, my dearest son!" he said with a crazed smile. His empire collapsing around him, reduced to just this strip of marbled floor, and he was smiling. "Bend the knee to your father and I shan't have you killed." Rhaegar knew his father was truly lost.

That didn't mean he wouldn't try to save him. However many atrocities he inflicted upon the world and his own family, Aerys was still his father. "I shall not bend, father," he said evenly. Beside him, Rhaegar heard Ned breath harder - hands tightening around Ice. "Your armies are beaten and walls have fallen. Surrender the crown to me."

The smile turned to a snarl. "You insolent wretch!" Robe rumpled and stained, body almost skin and bones, the King's fury still burned brightly. Violet eyes alight with flame. "How dare you defy me?!"

"How dare you kill your goodfamily?!" Ned thundered, having thought for many moons what he would say to the Mad King in this moment. "Your own grandchild, unborn and innocent?! How dare you bring them harm!"

At the howl of the wolf… the mad dragon cackled in laughter. "You must be Rickard's brat. Think he'll piss himself before I burn him?" Aerys asked Rossart.

"We can only see, your Grace," the Pyromancer repeated. Jaime said nothing, each moment adding to his agony.

"Probably. His brother and father did… cowards."

Before Ned could ascend the steps and kill Aerys with his bare hands, Barristan stopped him with an outstretched hand. "The City Watch has surrendered, Aerys," the kingsguard ground out, remembering the young knight that he fought alongside in the Stepstones. "Our armies have the capitol. You cannot hope to win."

"That is where you're wrong, Barristan. I shall win this war yet."

Slowly removing his helm, Rhaegar let it clatter about the floor. "Enough, father!" he thundered, silver locks falling wild over his shoulders - every inch a Valyrian dragonlord as Aegon the Conqueror. As Daemon the Rogue Prince. "You will surrender the throne to me!"

Aerys snorted. "Or what? You'll kill me?" He spat on the ground. "You couldn't even fucking kill Ser Jaime if I ordered him to attack you… you're such a spineless wyrm." The tiny flicker of doubt and hurt on Rhaegar's face made Aerys chuckle darkly.

"Burn them all…" whispered the voice. "Burn the false dragon."

In due time. Aerys was enjoying himself. "Pathetic." The wind howled against the walls, lights flickering about in a malevolent dance. "You can't even kill me. It's no wonder you couldn't protect your wives. No wonder your brat couldn't survive."

Ned's eyes widened, knowing he referred to poor Visenya.

"Your Grace, perhaps we should…" Rossart began.

Aerys waved him off with a snarl. "Viserys can be saved, as can his sister, but you are a lost cause." Each word pained him more than a thousand blows from Robert's warhammer. "You don't deserve to even touch Blackfyre, my spineless, worthless son!"

"No!" a voice roared, drawing attention to the rear entrance. Both Rhaegar and Jaime looked in horror at the heavily pregnant Rhaella waddling in. Putting herself in danger, but tall and proud as any woman of House Targaryen. "You will not speak of him in that way!" A life of cowering, of meekness, it evaporated, Rhaella feeling the fire of her blood burning in her veins as she walked into the well of the throne room between Rhaegar and Aerys. "I will not allow his reign to begin in the blood of our family in his hands - surrender the throne!"

Fists clenching, Aerys stood. "Insolent bitch! You will not speak to me that way!" Jaime found his hand going for his sword…

A screech shattered the din just as a thunderclap rocked Aegon's High Hill.

Ripping himself from the sack, Aegarax scrambled about Rhaegar's shoulders. Sensing his father in danger, he spread his wings. Hissing at Aerys at the top of his tiny lungs. Rhaegar watched as Aerys, Ser Jaime, Rossart, and his mother stared in complete shock. The rumors hadn't reached the capitol, apparently.

Jaw slack, it took moments before Aerys recovered enough to speak. "What… what is that?"

He smirked in spite of himself. "This is Aegarax - he is the sunrise dragon, and one day I shall be his rider," Rhaegar proclaimed proudly.

"No… that is impossible!" Aerys saw all his dreams - all his plans dissolve. "I am the last dragon! That beast should be mine!"

Staring at the dragon, it's head pointed at her for a moment before turning back to Aerys, suddenly Rhaella laughed. A dark chuckle, tinged with real amusement. "The last dragon, brother? You have got to be japing me." Gods, she was proud of her son. "Our father tried to bring the dragons back to the world, and it was our son to fulfill his dream. Our son, not you!" Each word found her grin growing.

While she grinned, he burned - rage boiling inside of him. "Shut it! Shut it, you cunt!" Shards pounded at his skull, the voice telling him over and over to burn them all. "Father was a fucking fool, burning himself alive like the weak shit he was! Duncan the same! Rhaegar the same!" Ripping the heavy crown of Aegon the Unworthy from his head, he shrieked as he threw it across the chamber. Hearing it crack against the columns of the throne room. "You will not steal my destiny from me!"

"They lie to you… deceive you with their tricks. Only you can bring the true dragons alive… burn them all and it shall be yours."

"It's over, father. Please, don't make me do this," Rhaegar pleaded as Aegarax stared daggers at Aerys. Hooting, suddenly breathing a puff of fire out to announce his hatred.

The sight of dragonfire focused Aerys - focused his rage. "You... You're not a dragon! You're just a traitor who by some extraordinary mummery got a wyvern who could breath fire!" Aerys moved to another side of the Iron Throne. "So this is what it's come to - my own family dishonors me. Consorts with whores and witches! Everybody lied to me, even that red bitch! All of my children and everyone around me are nothing but vile, faithless bastards!

That was one step too far for Jaime. He could see just how it affected Rhaegar - see the pain evident on Rhaella's face. "Your Grace, I can't accept that the men who bled for you-"

Aerys slapped his face, the suddenness of the blow staggering him. "Shut up! You call yourselves dragons because you spent years at this castle, but you only sucked off of my generosity! For years everyone has tried to undermine me, resisting every attempt that I have done to save my house from the Doom! All of you are cowards! Traitors! Failures!"

"Father, you are saying but lies to deceive yourself," Rhaegar was also reaching his limit.

"Burn them all!"

"Burn them all!"

"BURN THEM ALL!"

Yes, I shall! "My father fucked me! Jenny doomed us all! Tywin betrayed us all! My own family is unworthy!" Spittle shot out from his lips as he screamed, the voice consuming the last bit of his soul. "I would have done well years ago to execute all of those here for treason! I alone tried to rule, but everyone sought to usurp me!" But his smile turned sick, as if his skin became shallow from how horrid his thoughts had become. "But all these traitors will pay. They will pay with their own blood! They will burn, with fire!"

Rhaella's blood turned cold. "What have you done?"

"Back away, Rhaegar," Ned demanded, advancing with Ice.

Aerys laughed darkly. "This whole city, packed with wildfire." He delighted in how his family and guards all gasped in horror. "Starting with this chamber! One spark and all will die!"

Aegarax screeching madly, Rhaegar drew Blackfyre. Steeling himself for what he would need to do. Forgive me, father, but you have left me no choice.

"This is madness, brother!"

"Rossart! Do it!" Out of nowhere, the pyromancer drew out a flint, heading for the rear of the throne room. "Soon, all will die! This wretched city consumed in flame and the true dragons joining me in emerging from the ashes!" Aerys' eyes burned brightly. "I am the true dragon! I am Aegon the Conqueror's legacy…!"

With a thud, Rossert's decapitated head rolled across the floor past Aerys' feet. "The Master Pyromancer is dead, your Grace," Jaime said, looking straight at Rhaegar. Seeing Rhaella smile lovingly at him… it was worth it.

Aerys' face turned red with fury. "You traitor!" Somehow, he still was surprised by the treason around him. "I should have sent your severed parts to your father long ago!"

"I should have killed you for what you did to the Queen long ago." Frowning hard, Jaime kicked at Aerys' legs. Sending the king to his knees with a howl of pain. "I should have buried my sword in your back the first time you struck her Grace. She deserves better than you." As he spoke, Rhaella walked to stand beside him. Softly smiling at his defense of her.

Rhaegar ascended the steps, crisis averted. "It's over, father. There is nothing left for you."

"Just kill me," Aerys demanded. "Kill your father like the cowardly traitor you are!"

The rain roared even louder than before, the storm reaching full intensity. "No. I will not."

"You must end this… end the false dragon."

Clasping his father at the shoulder, Rhaegar looked into his eyes. Braving the madness and hate that swam inside them, even if it broke his heart. "Father… Surrender the crown. I beg you to end this." He didn't notice the King's hand going for something in the folds of his robe… though one did.

Shutting his eyes, Aerys felt the cold steel of the dagger as his bony fingers curled around it. "Kill him," the voice bellowed. "Kill the traitor!"

A sickly grin spread across his face. "All the power in the world… and you're still weak." Out came the blade as Aegarax screamed a warning, ready to plunge into his son's stomach.

"No!" yelled Ned, drawing Barristan's attention as well as a sharp blade pierced through flesh with a wet slap, followed by a gasp of surprise.

Beside him, Jaime felt his scabbard empty - he hadn't noticed the bloody blade drawn again. Only a split second passed before all the blood drained from his face, seeing exactly what had happened.

For a moment, how his father pitched towards him, Rhaegar knew he was dead. Killed at the last possible moment of the rebellion, by his own father no less. But the hot blood that splattered on his armor wasn't his. The dagger in his father's hand clattering to the ground. The gasp not from his throat. Before him, a horrific sight in and of itself, was the pointy end of a sword plunged right through Aerys' middle. Behind, hands gripped tightly on the hilt, was his mother. Face ashen yet determined as Rhaella had plunged the sword of her love into her husband. Her brother.

All to save her son.

With a gurgling groan, Aerys pitched face first to the throne, blade leaving his body as Rhaella kept a tight grip on it. The Queen trembled from the sheer audacity of what she had done. Wordlessly, in shock himself, Jaime slowly reached to her. Working the sword gingerly from her grip. "My Queen, please."

Shaking, her grip lessened. The sword parted from her hand and into Jaime's. One word rang in her ears. Kinslayer… kinslayer… Unable to stand - Daenerys kicking up a storm as powerful as the one raging outside - her knees gave way. "Jaime…" Rhaella murmured.

"Rhaella," he whispered back, free arm wrapping around her chest. Holding her up and letting her lean on him. She killed the King, her brother. Never existed someone more mistrusted than a kinslayer, and Jaime's soul ached at what now stood in Rhaella's fate… regardless of the righteousness of her actions.

Everything happened so fast for Rhaegar… at the moment he couldn't comprehend. He vaguely heard Ned speak to him, Barristan speak to him, his mother sobbing, but it was only the hoots and screeches of Aegarax that drew him out of the morass he found himself in. "Father!" Battered, bruised, brutalized that he was, still the loving son existed. Tried to kill him in akin to an embrace, and yet Rhaegar still knelt by his father and turned him to his back. Not letting him die alone.

But what looked back at him drew his everlasting surprise.

Blood seeped from Aerys' wound, slowly draining him as his skin grew ever paler. Strength fading away… and yet the voice was gone, and with it the hate. The anger and bitterness that drove him. Having to struggle further for every breath, every movement, Aerys' thoughts were freer than any time since his youth. Looking up, he saw the form of his son kneeling above him. "Rhae…" Aerys rasped. "Rhaegar…"

Gasping softly, Rhaegar saw his father's eyes no longer with the manic glow or fiery rage that tinged it ever since he could remember. They were normal, a soft violet filled with something he only found in his mother. Love? "Yes, Kepa?" he said.

Light fading away, Aerys nevertheless mustered his strength. Pushing his arm up Rhaegar's to his shoulder… and then to his cheek, feeling the warmth there. The last he would ever feel as the life slipped away from Aerys II Targaryen. "My son…"

The words were a murmur, barely audible, but Rhaegar heard them. His father's last words. Ones undoubtedly of love. Knelt on the floor, blood soaking his trousers and armor as he held his father, tears clouded Rhaegar's eyes as he laid Aerys upon the floor - granting him the peace in death that he had never known in life. Aegarax, sensing his father's agony, gently nuzzled his cheek. It brought Rhaegar a needed comfort. "Goodbye, kepa. Gods be with you."

A gentle hand pressed to his shoulder, that of his goodbrother. Regardless of all that had happened, he gave his empathy to Rhaegar nonetheless.

"Ahhhhh!" All eyes turned to Rhaella, a scream ripping from her. "Dany… too soon," she ground out, liquid breaking through her womb. "It's too soon…"

"Jaime!" Rhaegar called to the Kingsguard. "Get the midwife."

"Yes, your Grace." But he suddenly heard the loud voices and scuffled footfalls echoing through the halls even over Rhaella's screams. No… they'll find her crime... Jaime acted fast. "Get her Grace to her chambers," he barked at Barristan, the senior knight too engulfed by the magnitude of it all to do nothing but obey.

"No!" Rhaella cried through gritted teeth. "Jaime…" Trapped in agony, she realized it was he that she wanted by her side.

But his insistence was overpowering. Barristan's hold replacing his own as the Kingsguard led the Queen - now Queen Dowager - towards the exit. Rhaella's eyes shifted from Jaime to her son and then back to Jaime, stabs of rolling agony forcing her to scream out in pain at every jolt and movement.

Squeezing the lifeless hand of his sire one last time, Rhaegar stood just as Lord Tywin made his way into the Throne Room. Surrounding him were a dozen men, notably his brother Kevan, Emmon Frey, Roland Crakehall, and the towering form of Ser Gregor Clegane. Elbowing aside the guards that protected him, Tywin stared at the scene before him. "By the Seven, what has happened?" There was much talk of deposing Aerys… but not this.

Ned standing beside him with a grim expression, Rhaegar straightened his back. Suppressing the grief that coated his face and eyes. Mourning would be saved for later. "Lord Tywin…"

"The King is dead," Jaime interrupted brazenly, brushing past his King. Bloody sword in hand, his voice boomed through the throne room. Heard by even Queen Rhaella.

His voice reaching her, Rhaella bid Barristan to stop. "Your grace, we must…"

"No, wait…" Her teeth clenched, but still listened for her lion knight.

Green eyes flickering to Aerys' corpse, Tywin only felt irritation at his son's recitation of the obvious. "Indeed."

"I killed him."

Rhaegar's eyes widened, completely blindsided. Beside him, Ned also looked at the Kingsguard with shock - both wondered the same thing. Why would he take the blame…? But Rhaella's reaction… "No! No!" Jaime… you can't… Her contractions ripped into her, however, Daenerys not seeming to care that her mother's love had just confessed to being a kingslayer. "Let me… go…" Rhaella demanded weakly.

"We must get the midwife," Barristan breathed, amazed at Ser Jaime's declaration but the Queen's condition predominating. He pulled her out faster.

"No…" The pain was too much, words unable to form as Barristan shepherded her from the Throne Room. Screams drowned out by the booming thunder.

The Queen's cries were noticed but largely ignored by the gathered crowd, all staring at Jaime in shock. "You?" Lord Crakehall said incredulously.

"Yes." Jaime didn't have a shred of remorse. "It had to be done."

"I will slaughter every man, woman, and child in this keep to keep her alive and unharmed."

In that, Jaime now found his own honor as one he would kill for her. He couldn't bring himself to feel any regret for it.

One of the Westermen approached Jaime with his blade drawn. "Shall I place him under arrest, your Grace?" he asked Rhaegar, likely trying to curry favor.

Rhaegar snapped out of his haze. "No, you will not touch him." Regardless over who had done it - and that was something he would address later - his father had to die… It was something that needed to transpire or else… He'd have destroyed us all. "Ned, take his sword."

Approaching the now disgraced Kingsguard, Ned scanned Jaime with astonished eyes. This brother of Cersei that he knew not of… nothing beyond what she told him, and this. "Your sword, Ser Jaime." Wordlessly, Jaime handed it over.

Gazing at the dragon heads, feeling their stares upon him, slowly Rhaegar ascended the steps. Finding the Iron Throne empty before him, a chair of swords that so many had fought and bled and died over. With a loud thunderclap bellowing outside, Rhaegar sat upon it. Its blades not cutting him once.

While the consequences of this would reverberate for his family, Tywin found himself in that moment staring at the still corpse of Aerys II Targaryen. His old friend was so pale, and yet in the expression a sort of peace existed. One Aerys had never known in his life. "The King is dead," he said over the roar of the rain splattering against the walls of the Red Keep.

Climbing atop Rhaegar's shoulder, Aegarax shrieked and flapped his wings. Taking off unsteadily into the large vault above. Rhaegar's eyes tracked his dragon, the weight of it all finally striking him with an unbelievable fatigue. "Aye."

Tywin nodded. His next words were just as simple. "Long live the King."

Outside, the storm continued to rage, an apt serenade to the events that transpired within it's torment.

A/N: Long live the King!

I hope y'all liked how Jaime got his "Kingslayer" name this time around.

The more reviews, the sooner I'll update :)